


Five Times Ushijima Wakatoshi Absolutely Lost His Shit

by desdemona (LydiaOfNarnia)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bees, Claustrophobia, M/M, Minor Injuries, Panic Attacks, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/desdemona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then that one time he didn't, when he really should have, because Tendou Satori absolutely <i>was</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Ushijima Wakatoshi Absolutely Lost His Shit

According to most people who had ever held at least thirty second of conversation with him, Ushijima Wakatoshi was made up of approximately three things: bluntness, stoicism, and muscle.

Of course, nothing was ever as simple as it looked. Tendou knew this all too well. He wasn't the type of person to take things at face value -- and it was probably that which led him to be so dogged in befriending Ushijima in the first place.

But Ushijima was interesting. He was a _challenge_ , and Tendou adored challenges more than was probably healthy. He was a hard person to get to know; his resting face was about as emotive of a slab of granite, and he had the social skills to match. Yet, through excessive wheedling, like a dog gnawing at a stick until it finally snapped in half, Tendou Satori had somehow managed to peel through Ushijima’s layers. Everything he discovered only led him to be steadily more and more intrigued.

He liked farming and plants _way_ too much. He lived in an apartment with his mother, and was an only child. His diet was blander than a box of saltless crackers (one of his favorite foods), but he loved pomegranate protein shakes. He really liked the cute illustrations on the outside of Tendou’s favorite yogurt cup (Tendou always made sure to save him the wrappers). He was as complex as he was simple, and he was actually pretty fascinating.

There were many layers to Ushijima Wakatoshi, each one more… _unique_ than the next. But try as he might, Tendou still couldn't find his greatest weakness.

He _liked_ knowing people’s weaknesses. It was fun. What baffled him the most was that by all appearances Ushijima didn't seem to _have_ any. Aside from atrocious social tact, and maybe the fact that he ran way too freaking fast, there didn't seem to be any sort of chink in the Shiratorizawa dragon’s iron armor.

Of course, Tendou wasn't about to give up. If anything, the challenge of it only made him even more motivated to get under his friend's skin. There was no way Ushijima could really be as infallible as the impression he gave off to mere mortals. Even the greatest of the gods had their weaknesses.

That's what it started with -- a desire to figure out just what really got under Ushijima Wakatoshi’s skin. In reality, it really all began with a bee.

……

With his newly declared quest to discover Ushijima’s greatest weakness in mind, Tendou turned to the same place any wise man would -- horror movies. It took nearly a month, but he and Wakatoshi managed to get through all the great Japanese classics, as well as some truly frightening Western movies. The Exorcist, The Sadako films, more cryptids and demons than could fill your nightmares for weeks -- every weekend night, Ushijima and Tendou’s “movie nights” passed in a macabre succession.

The scares were certainly there. Some of them even wound up keeping Tendou up at night, and he usually reveled in the sorts of frights a good scary movie would bring. Yet as far as he could tell, Ushijima remained unperturbed; and his sleep schedule carried on as rigidly as ever.

By the time he’d managed to exhaust his great supply of classic horror films, he was out of ideas. Yet that Friday night, as he had done at Tendou’s insistence for the past month, Wakatoshi was at his door with his overnight bag slung over his shoulder. Wakatoshi had come there for movies, and perhaps it was out of desperation that Tendou wound up turning to one of his C-grade horror favorites -- _The Great Tokyo Bee Invasion_.

 _The Great Tokyo Bee Invasion_ was neither great -- as far as Tendou could tell, the movie's scope was limited to one city -- nor set in Tokyo. Misleading title aside, the film was blessed with some of the greatest attributes an awful horror movie could have: atrocious special effects, pretty girls screaming their lungs out, and just enough insect-laden gore to make you stop stuffing your face with popcorn for five minutes. 

To Tendou, it was the perfect cheesy flick for a night in. _The Great Tokyo Bee Invasion_ was either the best or worst possible movie to show Ushijima.

It was a bit pitiful how he seemed to spring to attention when Tendou announced they were watching a film about bees. Tendou would later reflect that the moment he registered the word _“bees”_ , Ushijima had probably been expecting a relaxing, educational documentary. Ushijima was very, very wrong.

They both settled in on the couch side by side; Tendou with a very large bowl of popcorn nestled in his lap and Ushijima clutching a water bottle in both hands. Untwisting the cap, Ushijima popped a straw into the bottle. It was another odd habit he had; Tendou was used to it enough by now that he barely batted an eye at the sound of slurping liquid through the thin plastic. it was yet another one of those quirks that made his friend so endearing, and Tendou wouldn't even hesitate to admit it. Few people were so open about their own eccentricities. Ushijima either was in no way aware of his own oddities or he just didn't care enough about other people to bother trying to hide them. Either way, Tendou respected him for it.

“I like bees,” declared Ushijima. The poor boy actually looked excited.

The rakish grin that snaked across Tendou’s face should have been more than enough warning, had Ushijima actually seen it; but his eyes were fixed on the opening sequence as it took over the screen. “Then you are going to _love_ this movie.”

Two hours and more than enough bee-related gore and horror to last a lifetime later, Ushijima no longer looked excited. Tendou would also have been willing to bet that he no longer liked bees.

“That was…”

“Interesting,” Ushijima said promptly. Tendou nodded.

“Yeah. Absolutely.” If he noticed that Ushijima’s face looked pale, he made a point not to say a word about it. He told himself that this was because he was a good person who really did respect his friend’s dignity. Honestly, his silence was born out of hesitation -- what might have almost been called an unwillingness to believe that he had finally managed to find some form of weakness in the Great Ushiwaka, and that the revelation had come via a film laden with overacting and atrocious special effects. It just seemed too easy.

The fallout didn’t come that night. For an entire weekend, as well as the whole of Shiratorizawa’s morning practice run on Monday, Tendou was able to delude himself into believing that his search for Ushijima’s greatest fear had once again turned up empty-handed.

And then, halfway through team stretches on one of the campus’s outside fields, Wakatoshi saw The Bee.

They had all known that Ushijima could move damn fast when he wanted too. Somehow, no one expected the hulking mass of six foot volleyball ace to suddenly shoot down the length of half a football field in three seconds flat. 

Ushijima was gone before anyone even had a chance to blink. Once their eyes refocused, there he was -- at a very safe distance away from them all, somehow looking huge even when standing so far away. In front of the rest of the team, the lone bumblebee buzzed harmlessly, taking a slight interest in Semi’s hair for a moment before benignly flying off somewhere else. Bee or no bee, however, Ushijima had left them in his dust.

For a brief moment, the group of reasonable third years -- minus Tendou, obviously -- exchanged wide-eyed glances. They didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t like Ushijima reacted like this often, especially not in response to something as tiny as a bee. Surely he couldn’t have been _afraid?_  Yet very few things can truly make a man shoot off as if someone had just lit a stick of dynamite under his ass; abject terror was their best guess.

In the moment of palpable confusion that followed, it was Goshiki who stepped up to the plate. “Umm…” He moves several paces forward, halting, and then perched himself on his toes to raise his voice across the field. “Ushijima-senpai? Are you okay?”

 **“DID YOU KNOW, TSUTOMU,”** called Ushijima (he was yelling, definitely, even though Goshiki’s voice was carrying just fine) **“THAT THE AVERAGE BEE IS CAPABLE OF FLYING AT UP TO 24 KILOMETERS PER HOUR?”**

Goshiki was baffled into silence for a moment. “Uhh,” he replied. “No, senpai, I… didn’t know that. That’s really cool.”

**“AND THEY HAVE STRAW LIKE TONGUES USED TO SUCK UP LIQUIDS. THIS IS CALLED A PROBOSCIS.”**

At this point, the intrepid Goshiki cast a helpless look back at the rest of his team, most of whom were as baffled as he was. The only one who didn’t seem either bewildered or annoyed was Tendou, who had quite unhelpfully fallen to the ground and was now clutching his stomach in a fit of loud cackling.

Eita aimed a precise kick to the back of his head. Stunned, Tendou fell silent once more.

Ushijima -- whether he was aware of the sort of consternation he was causing his poor team at the moment or not -- saw fit to throw out one last definitive statement, one that only made the entire experience all the more confusing for pretty much everyone who wasn’t Tendou.

**“I DO NOT LIKE BEES.”**

……

Having found Ushijima’s apparent weakness, Tendou’s appetite for human suffering had been sated. He’d never even considered, after the painstaking process of digging up the first Achilles Heel, that Ushijima could have possibly had _more_.

That was, until the day of the monthly annual (Tendou-organized) _Shiratorizawa Third Year Slumber Party of Team Bonding and Fun!_ , when Ushijima walked into a table, and wound up getting a rusty nail straight down the side of his leg.

Immediately, there was blood, and there was screaming -- not from Ushijima, oddly enough, and Tendou half suspected it was from _him_ because he and blood had never gotten along. Shiratorizawa’s ace began hopping around on one foot, hissing much in the manner of a mortally offended cat, as the three other third years (Yamagata had declined to come, due to an incident at last month's party involving hair dye) buzzed around him like... well, like bees.

Five minutes later, Eita at last managed to calm Ushijima down enough to allow him to even _look_ at the injury. That alone made it clear to everyone that Ushijima was freaked. Ushijima did not freak often. He’d gotten injuries in volleyball before, and the entire group at Eita’s house that night had even been present for a memorable nasty shoulder dislocation in Ushijima’s first year. Apparently, maintaining a poker-face in event of injury was not a thing when that injury happened to involve blood.

And there was a lot of blood. It trailed down Ushijima’s leg in long streams, running into his socks and casually dripping a crimson puddle onto the tiled kitchen floors. Biting his lip, Ushijima perched stiffly in a chair, leg held up to rest on Eita’s lap as the other boy thumbed somewhat clumsily through an emergency first aid kit. It was obvious that he was trying (and failing) to give off as much of an air of reassurance as possible; just as much as Ushijima himself was trying (and failing) to look nonchalant about the whole situation. Reon was at Ushijima’s side, urging him to stay still; and Tendou, helpful as ever was being for once uncharacteristically silent, hovering somewhere in the background.

“Umm… okay.”

Semi Eita was no doctor. He had absolutely no desire to be one, and he had no clue what he was doing. But the most remarkable thing about Semi Eita, according to the people who knew him and were bold enough to tell him so (Tendou) was that having no idea what he was doing or even what was going on would _in no way_ stop him from doing anything, ever. So Eita may not have been a doctor, he may not have even played one on TV before, but he was determined to _be the doctor_ that Ushijima needed.

Eita frowned, dark brows drawing together critically, before he raised his head and caught Ushijima’s wide eyes once more.

“So I don’t think it’s going to explode in some sort of volcano of blood and pus? So that’s a good thing.”

One more thing about Semi Eita: he should never, ever take up medical practice.

“That’s good. Good.” Ushijima nodded his head with zeal. In the span of only a few minutes, his face had gone from bright red to ash gray to a now very alarming shade of white that did little to distract from the tension in his clenched jaw, or the way the whites of his eyes were clearly visible. Discreetly -- perhaps anticipating the inevitable -- Reon began running a paper towel under cool tap water, soaking it through. Ushijima was still talking; Ushijima seemed to have forgotten how to shut up. “That’s a very good thing, because wounds are not supposed to do that. And if it did that, it would be very messy, and you would probably wind up soaked in blood as well, Eita, and that is not fair to you since you’re only trying to help. You are doing a very good job of helping my leg, which is bleeding, and has not… stopped… _bleeding_ … so. Yes. It is a good thing the wound will not explode, because that would make a large mess and be difficult to clean up. That would be bad. Bad. Very bad.”

And as if to accentuate just how _“bad”_ the situation was, Ushijima then passed out cold.

Tendou let out a muffled curse and stepped away on instinct as Ushijima’s head dropped backwards, neck craning to support him. There was a light thud as his skull connected with the back of the wooden chair, and everyone else winced in unison.

Seized with a rare occurrence of guilt, Tendou moved forward again. The least he could do was slip his hands under the woozy boy’s head so his neck didn’t get stuck that way. At the touch of icy fingers against his forehead, Ushijima shifted slightly, a soft sigh passing through parted lips. Otherwise, he remained unconscious.

Tendou’s lips pursed as he studied Ushijima’s face; unconscious, the harshness of his usual expression fades, and while his defined features were still present he somehow looked much younger. He looked utterly placid, and also sort of dead. Tendou felt an odd shift in his stomach at the feeling of Wakatoshi’s head cradled in his hands, soft hair twining through spindly fingers.

After a moment of utter silence the redhead raised his head to look up at the other two, his mouth open in a fine little ‘o’. Eita simply heaved a long, tired sigh, using a fresh piece of cotton to swiped a bit more of the blood from the wounded leg. When Reon moved forward with the towel, Eita held up a hand and made a quick slashing motion across his neck. Tendou couldn’t help but agree -- if Wakatoshi wasn’t conscious, then he wasn’t freaking out. Letting him take a nap at this point was an act of mercy.

The cut, as it turned out, was not deep enough to warrant stitches. Eita cleaned the injury, doused it with antiseptic, and selected the largest bandage from the first aid kit to conceal the whole of Ushijima’s wound from his own eyes. It had little ducks on it; Tendou couldn’t help but think that when Wakatoshi woke up, he’d be pleased.

Crisis averted, Eita slumped back in his own seat. Reon leaned against the counter, both palms pressed to his forehead. Tendou, still cradling Wakatoshi’s head as if it were a precious infant, slowly looked up; he was grinning.

“Well,” he drawled, far too chipper for the actual circumstances. “Wasn’t _that_ the most interesting thing to happen this week?”

Reon flung the wet paper towel at his head.

…...

It wasn’t as if Tendou had invited Wakatoshi into the closet. So there was really no way it could be called his fault -- except it may have been, a little bit.

All Ushijima had been looking for was a mop, after one of Kawanishi’s practice serves had knocked over a bottle of water. Tendou had originally been sent for the mop; he had gotten distracted. The supply closet wasn't large, and it wasn't remotely private; apparently to _some_ people, that didn't really matter.

Tendou glanced briefly over his shoulder when he heard the door open again, but his attention was focused elsewhere. “Hey Wakatoshi, come look at this,” he crowed. “The itty bitty first years thought they found the best place to hide their porn stash. How _precious_.”

“That sort of thing isn't appropriate for school,” Ushijima said, coming up behind him.

“I know! Isn't it great?”

“You shouldn't be looking at it.” Looking down at the magazine in his friend’s hand, the ace’s nose crinkled in disdain. Tendou snorted.

“Tell that to Goshiki, then. Not that I mind this sort of thing in general, but if you’re gonna bring it to school at least hide it better than behind the mops. And also don’t write your name on the cover, because if you still write your name in your books to keep them from getting lost then you are really not mature enough to be looking at porn.”

Ushijima eyed the mop braced against the wall. “We need that,” he remarked, and Tendou handed it to him without looking up. “Come back to practice.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” shot back the redhead, flipping a page in the magazine and blinking owlishly down at one of the photos. He hadn’t even known the female body could bend like _that_. Behind him, he could hear Wakatoshi heave a sigh, but at least he was walking away.

“I saw nothing. Don’t do anything weird,” he cautioned. Tendou had half a mind to turn around and retort, with the most frightening look he could muster, _“weird, **me**?”_ He might have done exactly that, too, if the sound of the doorknob jiggling not snapped his attention away from the magazine and towards Ushijima again.

The taller boy was standing very still in front of the closet door -- the door that had closed after he’d walked in. His hand, frozen on the doorknob, was gripping it very, very tightly.

“It’s locked,” he remarked, and Tendou blinked.

“Wow. Oops. I guess it… locks automatically?”

“It’s _locked_ ,” Ushijima repeated again, and there was a definite pitch to his voice this time. Slowly, Tendou’s eyebrows began to creep up his forehead.

The closet wasn’t as small as some others, but it definitely wasn’t large by any means; Wakatoshi only had about a meter of space on both sides, and if Tendou took a few large steps away from the door his back would have hit the wall. It didn’t help that the only light was shining in from the door’s frosted window, creating an overall dim atmosphere in the crowded little room.

Ushijima began to jiggle the doorknob again -- violently. Then, without warning, he slammed his fist against the glass. Tendou jumped back as the pane shook slightly, but did not give in.

“Hey!” Ushijima began to holler, kicking at the door. “It’s locked! Is there anyone out there?”

Just as he was rearing to bring his fist down again, Tendou sprang forward and caught his arm. The super-ace’s muscles were tense, and as Tendou pulled him back from the door he was alarmed to realize that Ushijima actually seemed to be trembling slightly.

“Wakatoshi,” he ventured, voice heavy with caution. “You okay there?”

Ushijima’s eyes were wide, and his gaze wouldn’t quite meet Tendou’s own. His pallor was both familiar and more than a little alarming. “We’re locked in,” he said again, only repeating what they both already knew. “We have to get out. We have to --”

This was the moment that Tendou decided his little game was definitely no longer fun. Discovering the many (?) weaknesses of Ushijima Wakatoshi could be entertaining for a while; but being locked in a small closet with a very panicked, very _large_ Ushijima was definitely not his idea of a good time. If this was some sort of cosmic joke, clearly the universe hated him.

“Wakatoshi, calm down. Breathe, man.”

“I am breathing,” Ushijima shot back, too quickly. He was not wrong; but he was definitely not doing a good job of it. Even as Tendou watched, his chest began to rise and fall more erratically as his gaze swiveled around the dark room. Taking a cue that was mostly from his own self-preservation instinct, Tendou released Ushijima’s arm and took several wide steps back until he hit the shelf behind him. One of Goshiki’s magazines fell to the floor.

In a sense, it did make sense that someone like Ushijima would have claustrophobia. For someone as tall, as effortlessly powerful, being locked in a very small space with no way out would have to be frightening. Tendou only wished he didn’t have a front-row seat to the show.

Ushijima slowly began to turn, stepping on his own heels as he swiveled around the small closet. If he was looking for an escape, there was none to be found; perhaps, however, he was simply imagining the walls closing in on him. His breaths came in ragged pants, shoulders heaving, and his hands were twitching rapidly at his sides. With every harsh heave of breath, a new sound slowly began to emerge what could only be described as a thin sort of whining sound, almost inaudible over the loud gasps.

“Wakatoshi--” Tendou tried again, but somehow he could tell that Ushijima was too far gone to listen.

“Let me out,” Ushijima said again, but this time his voice was frail and there was no power behind it; it sounded like the voice of a child.

Shiratorizawa’s unbreakable ace was literally falling apart before his very eyes; it was almost like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Tendou was the helpless observer, powerless to look away and more than a little afraid of what could happen if he even closed his eyes. Rationally, he knew that he should do something -- to at least keep Wakatoshi from freaking out entirely and possibly hurting himself or _him_ \-- but Tendou just didn’t know what he _could_ do. He had never counted on Ushijima being afraid of small spaces, but somehow he was beginning to get the nagging feeling that he really ought to have.

“Breathe, Wakatoshi,” he tried again, but the keening sound only began to steadily increase in frequency, if not volume. It was harsh, and hushed, like Ushijima was desperately trying to suppress it, but he couldn’t keep it down entirely. It sounded utterly pathetic, and Tendou felt his heart constrict in his chest.

And then, before his very disbelieving eyes, Ushijima crumpled.

He literally fell to the ground, and for one horrible moment Tendou was sure the other boy had fainted again; but Ushijima was still wailing like the world’s quietest ambulance siren, even as he pulled his knees to his chest, curled up into a literal ball, and ducked his head. If he was trying to block out the world, he was doing a poor job of it. His trembling only seemed to increase, and it was more than obvious by this point that Ushijima was in the grips of a full-blown panic attack.

And Tendou was Not Prepared For This.

“Uhh… Wakatoshi…”

His mother used to get panic attacks; he could remember, as a very small child, watching her crumple to the kitchen floor, bowl of cereal clattering to the floor and shattering as she shook and screamed. That had been when she was pregnant with Tendou’s twin sisters; after the births of Nagisa and Nanami, however, she had gone on medication and never suffered another attack of the kind. Now, racking his brain to the point where his head was beginning to throb, Tendou desperately tried to recall what his father had done for his mother in that case.

He was quite certain that raising his voice in this case was the _wrong_ thing to do; so Tendou basically approached Ushijima slowly, like he was a very large, dangerous hibernating bear.

“Waka-to- _shiii_ ,” he chimed, trying to force his tone to sound light. “Please don’t cry. You usually don’t show emotion; I don’t know what I would do if you started crying now. The world might end.”

Ushijima’s reply was something distinctly along the lines of a wail.

A string of curses rang through Tendou’s head, though thankfully refrained from flying from his mouth. New tactic, then, and quickly. When he got upset as a child, what used to calm him down?

Suddenly a bit more confident in his movements, Tendou slowly lowered himself down by Ushijima’s side. It was definitely strange to see the larger boy so… still. Ushijima looked _small_ , and that was a word most people would never think to associate with Shiratorizawa’s ace; damn it, he looked way too _vulnerable_. If Tendou had any sort of maternal instincts in him at all, they were screaming; and maybe that’s what made his voice so gentle when he spoke again.

“Wakatoshi, I need you to listen to me, okay? It’s me, Satori. I’m right here. You’re not alone, and we’re going to get out of here really soon, okay? I promise, just… breathe for me. Breathe in. Breathe out.” It took a moment, but gradually Wakatoshi’s broad shoulders rose with the movement; Tendou let out an approving hum. “That’s it. Good job. You’re doing a good job.”

“Satori.” Ushijima’s voice was very small.

“I’m here,” affirmed Tendou; and he was not expecting it when, very suddenly and quite violently, Ushijima headbutted him in the stomach.

“Ow, _fu_ \--” he started to exclaim loudly, but cut himself off when he realized that Ushijima was literally clinging to him like the world’s most attention-starved octopus. Well, maybe _giant squid_ was a more appropriate metaphor; Ushijima’s face was pressed into his stomach, muscular arms were now encircling his entire torso, and Tendou was _kind of_ struggling to breathe.

“I -- I’m here -- _buddy_ ,” he gasped out, but dismayingly that only seemed to encourage Ushijima to clutch him tighter. If this continued, Ushijima wasn’t going to be the one passing out. Somewhat desperately, Tendou squirmed, but Ushijima’s characteristic oblivious to social situations had never kicked in at a worse time. “But, you know, kinda can’t breathe, so could you just---” Ushijima backed off rather quickly; Tendou gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Thanks. You d--”

His own words died in his throat when for the first time he caught sight of Wakatoshi’s face; drawn and pale, the shadows cast by the window’s dim light only seemed to make Wakatoshi’s cheekbones look hollow and his eyes even darker. The light dusting of freckles across his nose stood out now against his pale skin; but the worst thing were his eyes, staring up at Tendou with a sort of desperation he’d never seen from the other boy before. They were shining brightly, unshed tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, and there were distinct teartracks lining his tanned cheeks. Wakatoshi was _crying_ and he looked terrified, in a way that hit Tendou even harder than the headbut.

Make no mistake, Tendou Satori was not a gentle soul. Actually, he’d been told by numerous people that he didn’t have a gentle bone in his body, and he was inclined to believe them. But hell, if this wasn’t one of the most surreal and _sad_ things he’d ever seen in his life…

And then, just as Ushijima’s breath began hitching again, Tendou reached over and pulled the ace back into his lap.

Normal Ushijima did not like hugs. Normal Ushijima did not know how to react to hugs. Tendou realized now that this was probably because Ushijima’s hugs could crush a man to death, and he knew it.

Distrurbingly-teary-freaked-out Ushijima seemed to like hugs very much.

Tendou nodded encouragingly as Ushijima slowly twined his arms around his waist once more, halfway strewn across his lap. Ushijima’s face pressed into his friend’s stomach, heaving shoulders and choked breaths slowly soaking Tendou’s t-shirt through.

“Why -- why are you so scared?” The words slipped from his mouth before he even had the chance to think about them.

Wakatoshi looked up, and Tendou promptly wished that he hadn’t because he still looked every bit as miserable as before. Despite whatever comfort Tendou was offering, he seemed to curl in on himself still. “When I was young,” he said, and his voice was almost level once more, though still trembling with jagged breaths, “I was locked in a closet by accident.”

Tendou swallowed thickly. “Oh?”

“It was dark, and small, and I was left there for several hours before my mother found me. It was an unpleasant experience for me.”

Which… would explain a lot, Tendou supposed. Childhood experiences could have a huge effect on people’s personalities, especially things like phobias. Tendou was bitten by a sheep once; for years afterwards, he would run away screaming whenever his family went to visit the local farm. He supposed Ushijima would probably disapprove of that sort of fear.

Which was maybe the reason he began to tell him about it anyway.

As Tendou continued to speak, Wakatoshi’s head slowly began to lift from the other boy’s lap (which was a relief, because the positioning was awkward and Ushijima in any sort of proximity to Tendou’s lower regions was making him uncomfortable enough _without_ entertaining the notion of a spontaneous hard-on). His chin propped itself against Tendou’s chest, and he studied his friend with dark, attentive eyes as Tendou recounted the story of the time he’d hid himself in his neighborhood farm’s haunted house for two hours, frightening quite a few unsuspecting visitors by leaping out at them, just to escape the penned in sheep that his sisters were taking such delight in. It was a funny story, the sort his parents recounted on holidays to the rest of the family; inconsequential. Slowly, Ushijima’s breathing began to relax.

“That’s not the weirdest thing I’ve done, though. You know that, duh, but did I ever tell you about the time I got stuck on the roof? I thought it would be a really great Idea to climb out the window -- I don’t know, I was eight and stupid, even though climbing out windows still seems _pretty_ cool, don’t get me wrong… but anyway, I got stuck and then it started raining…”

Tendou talked, Ushijima listened, and gradually the weight against Tendou’s chest began to grow heavier. Only when he looked down again and saw that his friend’s eyes were closed did Tendou realize that he’d actually fallen asleep.

Panic attacks could take a lot out of you, Tendou realized; he wasn’t about to move when Wakatoshi had finally relaxed, and actually seemed comfortable. Even if that happened to be… on top of him…

Well, he could deal with it.

So Tendou did what he did best, and continued to talk.

Half an hour later, the missing volleyball players were finally located; but only after Tendou got tired of waiting to be found and called up Yamagata to shout at him. After that, they were quickly rescued, and it was a relief to pretty much everyone (aside from the players who were actually enjoying the much quieter practice in Tendou's absence -- he suspected there was a reason they'd been left alone for so long). Somehow, everyone seemed to be annoyed with _Tendou_ , even though he’d been the one locked in the closet to begin with.

The fact that Ushijima was asleep in Tendou’s lap was one of those things that made everyone curious but no one was brave enough to ask about. It was probably better that way, Tendou mused; after waking up and stumbling into daylight once more, Ushijima promptly resumed practice as if nothing had ever happened.

It should have been that easy for Tendou, too. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t.

…...

Alright, so maybe the next one technically was his fault. In Tendou's own defense, he'd been distracted at practice that day already (distracted all _week_ , by the memory of Wakatoshi's face, eyes wide and skin pale and so fucking _terrified_ \--). He should have been more careful. Up against a weapon as powerful as Ushijima's spike, anyone who wasn't two-hundred percent on their game was a liability and danger to themselves.

Still, for as minor a crime as being distracted, getting nailed in the face with Ushijima’s patented Shiratorizawa-Murder-Spike™ was definitely excessive punishment.

It happened so fast that Tendou himself hadn't even seen it coming. Shirabu's set was high. Ushijima's focus was on the ball, powerful legs pushing him into the air. Tendou's attention was absolutely _not_ on following the ball, and absolutely picturing the specks of gold that seemed to shine in Wakatoshi's brown eyes whenever the ace looked at him. And the most feared serve in the Miyagi prefecture slammed directly into his face.

For lack of a more graceful term, Tendou dropped like a bleeding, redheaded rock. Once he hit the ground, things were blissfully -- mercifully -- dark. For a while, he wasn't aware of anything at all. He was pretty sure he'd lost consciousness, even for a just a few precious seconds; and things faded back in slowly. There was a ringing in his head and something warm on his face; the metallic taste of iron rang thick in his mouth when he tried to take a breath. Around him, he was vaguely aware of chaos, but for once in his life he was happy to be removed from it. Somewhere behind him he could hear someone (Tsutomu?) squawking like a wounded parrot, and there was more than one somewhat frantic exclamation of _"oh shit!"_ from his various other teammates as everyone ran in circles just trying to figure out what the hell to do.

It wasn't as if no one had ever been hit by Ushijima before -- but there were _rumors_ about what happened to people who got his spike to the face, and most of them went along the lines of _"and he never was able to walk in a straight line again"_ or _"he never recovered the eight years of childhood memories that the spike had literally knocked out of his head"_ or even the ever classic _"and his funeral was held on Sunday."_ Tendou knew all of these rumors by heart, especially considering he'd started most of them himself. But being on the receiving end of a one of the fabled Ushiwaka spikes to the head -- _that_ was something else.

Logically, he knew Wakatoshi hadn't meant to hurt him. But that had _really fucking hurt._

Eventually someone -- probably Reon, it was always Reon -- had the presence of mind to tell Tendou to _“stop trying to move, you look like you just got shot”_ \-- and maybe it was the idea of further destruction to his wondrous face that got Tendou to finally open his eyes. When he did, the lights were all too bright and he felt far queasier than he should have. But what struck him above anything else was the _angel_ standing over him.

In stories, angels were always portrayed as being goodness and light incarnate -- Tendou knew better. The original concept of an angel was a mercenary of just vengeance; that was exactly what was standing over him right now. Bathed in a halo of light than Tendou suspected was probably only visible to someone with a brain injury, the angel loomed over him immensely. His form was towering, sturdy in a way that made the bleeding boy feel inexplicably _safe_ , and when he peered down at him Tendou suddenly had the sensation that he was being scrutinized -- not maliciously, but not benevolently either.

Wakatoshi bent down next to him, and only then did it register in Tendou’s mind what the other boy’s expression really was.

Ushijima looked scared out of his mind. The bees had been one thing, the closet had been another, but this, this was the look of a man staring down his own nightmare incarnate. His form was as composed as ever; anyone looking on would have seen Shiratorizawa’s ever-stoic ace expressing mild concern for his injured teammate.

But Tendou, Tendou knew so much better.

Wakatoshi’s eyes had grown too wide for his otherwise structured face. The expression of fear was familiar right now, as was the ashy color of his skin, and the way his jaw shifted tersely as teeth ground against each other. But he reached out to Tendou, and his hand -- however minisculey -- was shaking.

Admittedly, Tendou supposed later, the idea that you may have accidentally murdered someone would be pretty terrifying for anyone. But the look that had been on Wakatoshi's face -- and that tremble, that slight tremor in an unshakeable foundation that spoke volumes as to how much he cared -- lingered sharp in his mind long after many concussion-induced naps ought to have dulled it away.

……

With a severe concussion and a doctor's order to stay out of school for a few days, there wasn't much for Tendou to do but sit at home and think. And thinking inevitably led to Ushijima, because it seemed lately that everything he did led back to Ushijima.

And with Ushijima on his mind, the inevitable visit from his friend and near-murderer was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because having a concussion was boring as hell, and a curse because -- well, things are understandably a bit awkward between two people when one visits the other's sickbed with a (terribly) handdrawn card and a bouquet of hyacinths (apparently used as an apology in flower language), the high school volleyball equivalent of apologizing to someone for sniping them Yakuza-style in the head.

Conversation was predictably stilted for a while, and mostly one sided -- that is, even more that regular conversations with Wakatoshi tended to be. He hadn't run away from Tendou after the accident, even despite the literal fountain of blood that had been pouring from his nose; now, though, Ushijima was eyeing him like something fragile, almost breakable. Like a toy doll, Tendou thought with bitter amusement, and fought the urge to roll his eyes. That made his head hurt, anyway.

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” Wakatoshi said suddenly. The look on his face implied that it was very important to him that Tendou knew this. The redhead snorted slightly.

“I figured. If you actually had meant to hurt me, I think I'd probably cry. Then again, I’d also probably be dead, because you're not the type to do things halfway. So I'd be crying and dead.”

Ushijima blinked at him. “I wouldn't purposely hurt you. I would never kill you.”

Tendou knew that, too; but once again, this was important to Ushijima. “I can sleep better at night now. Thanks, Wakatoshi.”

“You're welcome."

It was a nice moment; but the tension between them was still thick enough that things took an inevitable bad turn. Tendou sensed it coming from a mile away, but didn't bother trying to steer the conversation down a different path. It was mostly him, anyway, talking about the hospital and how he probably could have broken his neck and just how _lame_ concussions were; and then suddenly they were arguing.

“You don’t have to be so distant about it, you know. I know you didn’t mean it. I know you feel bad. You don’t need to act like it doesn’t bother you.”

“It bothers me,” Ushijima replied automatically. After a pause, with the other boy clearly waiting for him to continue, he awkwardly went on. “I hurt you. You know it bothers me.”

“You don’t seem very bothered, though.”

“I seem like myself. There is no point in changing my own behavior.”

Arguing with Ushijima was an _experience_ , because he never really argued. He just stated facts, and if you could dispute them, the point went to you. Normally, though, Ushijima’s world view was concrete enough that he could counter any argument with a few simple statements and leave it there. He never even considered them as victories, because usually he didn't realize people were even arguing with him.

“You could act like you feel a bit bad, Wakatoshi. Shed a few tears over me.”

He knew now, though. Tendou was grinning widely, that smile he wore when he was trying his damndest to get under someone's skin, and Wakatoshi’s posture was tense. “You don't understand,” he muttered, and Tendou cocked his head.

“Explain it to me, then.”

He wasn't being fair. Tendou knew, everyone knew that Ushijima was reserved with his emotions. That was just the way he was, and Tendou thought he'd accepted that. But Ushijima was just being so _casual_ about this whole thing, almost apathetic -- but what had happened in that closet had been anything _but_ casual, and getting spiked in the face and losing half his memories from the fifth grade somehow didn't dull the image burned into Tendou's mind of Ushijima’s tear-stained face pressed into his chest. Did it really just not matter to him?

Ushijima was floundering. “I am not… trying to be apathetic, but I can’t… you know I… I don’t know how to… after what happened in the closet, I was worried that you’d...”

And maybe it was the concussion that had shut off his very limited brain-to-mouth filter entirely, but Tendou couldn’t stop his own words before they had left his mouth. “You really think your _Stoic-san_ thing is the type of person your dad would be proud of?”

Almost immediately, Wakatoshi shut himself off -- and to Tendou, who had spent so long figuring out ways to hurdle over the other boy’s seemingly indestructible walls, that hurt more than anything. They both knew he had crossed a line. “Don't talk about my father,” Ushijima commanded, brows furrowed and face blank.

“I always kinda thought you just weren't good with feelings -- and no, you're definitely not, but that's not all it is, is it? You're _scared_ , Wakatoshi!” He laughed a little, high and manic, because he was only digging his own grave deeper. “You're _afraid_ of being weak! Maybe you don't want to get hurt, maybe you see being vulnerable as a weakness, or hell, maybe you really think that everyone wants you to be some sort of Greek statue or something. But you don't have to be, you know! That's not the way the world works, it's okay to feel and if you don't want to let anyone in --”

Ushijima stood, abruptly, his face hard but his eyes blazing. “Stop it,” he said in a low tone, almost a growl. “Shut up, Tendou.”

Oh. Shit. Angry Wakatoshi was not a fun Wakatoshi, and it clearly Tendou had driven far past the boundaries the two had always set for each other. What on earth was he even thinking?

The simple answer: he wasn't.

“Maybe people care about you. What then? Do they just not matter?”

“They've opened themselves up to getting hurt. I didn't ask them to do that for me.”

“Maybe they can't help it! I mean, hell, you're not exactly charming, but that doesn't stop you from drawing people in! Even if you don't realize it, Wakatoshi, and you _don't_ , you --”

“Stop.”

"You can't just act like things don't matter --"

" _Tendou_."

"When they do matter to some people, because I mean, wow, sometimes you really need to talk about things and you can't just pretend that they never happened and don't bother you--"

"Stop it!"

Tendou was not wise, and he was more than a little curious to see just how far he could go. “You're scared of getting hurt! I get it! So it didn't work out between your parents! That's tough, yeah, but it's not about the type of person _you_ are because you've got people who care about you anyway, and if you push them away you're going to wind up alone --”

_**“SATORI!”** _

The shout ripped from Ushijima’s throat, startling them both. Tendou was wide-eyed, gaping; Ushijima was breathing heavily, fists clenched at his side, his entire posture tense and coiled like a spring. Inside, Tendou was buzzing -- he had just made the great Ushiwaka absolutely _furious_. That had to count as some sort of warped victory.

But when he really looked at Wakatoshi, suddenly it didn't feel like much of a victory at all. His friend’s gaze was twisted, deep golden eyes clouded with emotions that he probably didn't even know how to explain. Most of all, he looked hurt, and there was a terrifying brightness to his eyes that didn't quite suggest tears but came way too damn close.

He had almost made Ushijima Wakatoshi cry.

Holy shit.

Oh no.

Ushijima straightened his posture, holding himself up to his full height, and carefully placed the bouquet of hyacinths at the end of Tendou’s bed. Their stems were slightly crushed.

“Rest will give your brain the time it needs to recover, so you can return to school as soon as possible. Feel better.”

Tensou’s eyes followed his retreating back, and he honestly could not believe that the other boy was just walking out. Ushijima didn't run away from things. Okay, maybe bees, open wounds, and enclosed spaces were the exceptions, but he didn't run away from _people_. Most of the time, people just couldn't get under his skin enough to affect him.

But Tendou had. Knowingly or not, Wakatoshi _had_ opened up to someone. And Tendou had only hurt him.

……

And that was the moment Tendou Satori absolutely lost his shit.

Objectively, he’d lost his shit many years ago; but the realization that he’d just deeply hurt someone he cared about, his best friend, his -- _something more? Maybe, possibly, someday, did he even **want** that --_

The realization that he’d hurt Ushijima Wakatoshi pushed him over the edge of sanity.

Running with a concussion is a very bad idea. Tendou didn’t care. He lay in bed after Ushijima’s sudden departure for all of three seconds before promptly casting the covers aside and tearing off after him.

He caught Ushijima halfway down the stairs -- or, more accurately, Ushijima caught _him_ , because Tendou suddenly grew very dizzy at the top of the landing and wound up pitching headfirst down. Never had he been more grateful that Ushijima was built like a literal brick wall until the moment the other boy was clutching him in his arms, and their faces were so close that their noses were brushing and Tendou could count Wakatoshi’s freckles…

In the background he could hear his mother yelling at him, but that noise was drowned out by the sirens wailing in his own head as he drove his own weight forward. Wakatoshi was pushed backwards, shoulderblades connecting with the wall and nearly knocking over a family photo; whether either teen noticed this was anyone’s guess. The only thing Tendou was really conscious of at the moment was the fact that he was _actually kissing Ushijima Wakatoshi_.

His head was spinning; even with his eyes shut, he could feel the world rotating around them both, but Ushijima was delightfully solid. Lips moved against his own, dry and unsure; but Tendou’s enthusiasm was contagious, and slowly Wakatoshi began replying with more vigor, shedding his hesitance and clutching the other boy to his chest tighter.

When they pulled apart for air, Tendou’s eyes were wide; Ushijima was undeniably blushing, and it was maybe the _cutest_ thing he’d ever seen.

 _“Miracle Boy Wakatoshi,”_ he breathed out, a smile dancing on his lips; and slowly, Ushijima’s mouth quirked up in reply.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he observed frankly.

“Yeah. But I wasn’t about to let you leave without even saying goodbye.”

He grinned, and Ushijima grinned too -- _oh gods, his smile was like the sun_ \-- and concussion or not, Tendou suddenly felt about twenty times lighter.

Finally yielding to his mother’s shouting at him to _“get back upstairs, don’t make out on the stairs, you could **fall** ,”_ Wakatoshi carefully led Tendou back to his bedroom. They didn’t kiss again, even though Tendou wanted too, and from the way Wakatoshi’s eyes stayed on his lips the entire time he was pretty sure the other boy wanted to as well.

Only when Tendou was safely tucked back in bed was he able to speak again. “Wakatoshi, I’m s--”

“It’s fine.”

“But--”

“Satori.” Ushijima had picked up the bouquet from the end of the bed; now, carefully, he tucked it next to Tendou’s pillow. The blush was gone from his face, and Tendou found that he almost missed it. “It’s alright. You’re still injured. When you return to school, we can…”

Tendou looked up, realizing that Wakatoshi had trailed off. The other boy seemed like he simply didn’t know what to say; honestly, Tendou couldn’t blame him.

“Discuss,” he finished at last, and a wide grin spread across the redhead’s face.

Ultimately, Tendou had managed to figure out Ushijima’s weaknesses. If some of his own had been revealed in the process -- well, he still counted that as a victory. He was pretty sure that Ushijima felt the exact same way.

**Author's Note:**

> I  
> I should be working on homework  
> Its AkiSae Week  
> Seijoh Week is in A WEEK  
> AND I DONT EVEN HAVE THE NEXT CHAPTER OF OF THE MOONLESS NIGHTS HALFWAY DONE
> 
> but no. instead i descended into ushiten hell and labored over this until four freaking am. what is life.


End file.
